Believe (Brimmy)

Chapter One (Brian Haner)

It is madness.

Mom dresses me up in my Sunday best. Every week she adjusts my tie, runs the comb through my unruly hair.

"Tonight's the night." She says excitedly without fail. "I can feel it. Can't you, Bri?"

No. I can't. I can't feel anything. All I can feel is the disease, crawling through my veins. Some days it feels like maggots. Other days it feels like flames.

Today, though, it's bearable. Today I feel like I can manage. Mom, she thinks it's a sign.

We've been attending Daniel Rosa's services for weeks now, months even. He holds his great, big hands up to the sky, and God tells him who to heal.

It's a load of steaming horse shit.

Tonight, Mom ushers me into the tent. We fight our way through the throngs of people, all ill and aching. They're all so far worse off than me. I mean, come on, who can be in their right mind and believe in this crap?

Everyone is expected to sit. Mom tries to get us as close to the front as possible. I sigh, scuffing my shoes on the dirt, eyes wandering over the people. Most of them are old, some are wailing, some are speaking amongst themselves. Most are praying. There are a few men and women who seem to be in their thirties or so.

But there is also a boy.

He's standing off to the side, as close to the front as they'll allow, I'm sure. Before him is a wheelchair, and in it, sits a dead man.

Dead. Nearly dead. Dying. Just like the rest of us.

The boy's got blue eyes. I know this because he turned to look at me. He smiles a great big smile and waves. I look down at my shoes, mud caked on the soles from all my scuffing.

Daniel Rosa comes out onto the stage. He's an old, large man, the size of Texas with hands that could swallow you whole. He's got this kind sort of face, and searching eyes. I can see why so many people buy into his whole deal. He looks like he can see into your soul.

That's what he claims, as the matter of fact. Daniel Rosa looks into your soul, and if the Lord sees purpose in you, you will be saved.

So even if this circus show was real, I'd never get chosen. What purpose? I smoke cigarettes to help ease the pain. I bum liquor off of people old enough to buy it for me and oblivious enough not to care. I've got burning sins, pressing secrets. I have my demons. I'm not clean.

These old folks, they're just gonna die anyway. Why prolong the inevitable?

"Welcome, brothers and sisters." Daniel Rosa's eyes sweep over us, already on the hunt. "Are you ready to witness the power of the Lord today?"

All around, the people respond. "Amen!" "Yes, Jesus!" "Hallelujah, yes!"

Mom takes my hand in both of hers. I roll my eyes. I glance over at Blue Eyes. He's got the power of the Lord written across his face, soft features shining with promise. He looks hungry and desperate, hopeful and overjoyed at the same time. He pushes some of his black hair from his face, leaning down to murmur something to his corpse friend.

Corpse Friend doesn't respond. I start to wonder if he keeled over right now, but Blue Eyes doesn't seem worried.

Daniel Rosa will only heal you if he knows your name. He calls you up by name, if it's your day to witness the Heavenly Host in your life, so everyone made it their personal responsibility to introduce themselves. Mom has introduced me more times than I can count, always hoping the words, "Brian Haner" will spill forth through his gospel lips.